520

520

today 

you handed me

half a peach-- 

it's sweet

you urged, 

then said it again.   

how many rituals 

stand in

for saying it?

that half-nibbled text

you sent me, 

read receipts turned off--

the carefully swept 

page gaps, 

trimmed bubble edges. 

shoulders brushing 

as we walk, 

the warmth of skin 

a reproach--

sunlight cutting 

through the leaves.

is it good?

you ask me. 

mmm.